


Poem: Coked-Up Ben Solo Fucks Finn in a Burger King and Hates Himself

by Lilander



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drabble, Erotic Poetry, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 08:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21296591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilander/pseuds/Lilander
Summary: This is the summer half the state was burning, Notre Dame was burning, everything was dying except you and me.So we were running from the same thing. That’s nothing to build a life on. Nothing to build a night on, but we built it, didn’t we?
Relationships: Finn/Ben Solo, Finn/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	Poem: Coked-Up Ben Solo Fucks Finn in a Burger King and Hates Himself

I’m not saying this is a redemption story. It’s not like Jesus, for Chrissake.

This is the story of dandelions, of bathrooms at Burger King and how your shirt licked your scars when I pushed you against the sink. This is the summer half the state was burning, Notre Dame was burning and everything was dying except you and me.

So we were running from the same thing. That’s nothing to build a life on. Nothing to build a night on, but we built it, didn’t we?

Was that the night you bleed?

_Don’t_ tell me it wasn’t my fault. I remember the story. Listen:

Chapter and verse: your back, your moans doubled in a mirror and your tongue cutting beer-sour trenches up my neck. You were mad, I think. I was mad. We wanted it. The glass broke, you speared your fingers in my hair and asked me if I broke the fucking mirror like you'd been waiting for it. You came on my stomach, I wiped it on a wrapper.

Exegesis: Did Jesus ever…?

Well. We did. And you bleed.

Chapter and verse: I ranted. Told you I’d drive your Honda to Paris, drive right up the aisle, over the pews to park on the altar. Promised you I’d jerk you off there and you could use me to put out the fire, and you breathed on my veins and told me _ease up_. You took away my coke, and maybe I screamed at you, maybe you listened.

Marginalia: Listen. _Listen_ to me.

You never do.

You won’t this time either, when I tell you to leave me naked by the side of the road in the grave I keep trying to fall into.

Let me wear a mask of dandelions and dust. Let me fall a mile back down the road. Past the gas station, past the mirror, past the Burger King on fire, past the stoplight tolling three a.m. Past the Honda, past the cathedrals, past Jesus, back to the patch of weeds where all the falling started, before I clothed you with my mouth and the angels sent us running.

Run _faster. _Let it catch me, let me give you this—whatever you hear, keep running—

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written poetry in my life but this happened and it's too dirty for a twitter-fic and it didn't feel like a story, so here we are.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sonnet #1: Finnreylo in the Wendy's Drive-through](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21305321) by [QueenOfCarrotFlowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfCarrotFlowers/pseuds/QueenOfCarrotFlowers)


End file.
